‘Not really. I’m just doing what’s expected.’ She glanced over at the door as the bell jangled and saw Janelle pushing Maddie into the café. ‘That’s one of my mums,’ she said in a low voice, nudging Dave with her foot.
He turned around and caught a glimpse of a young girl with long, dull blonde hair and acne. Even with the quick glance he could see the pram was dirty and old, and the mother’s clothes were either second-hand or had been dragged out of the rag bin.
Maddie was crying and Melinda frowned. ‘Surely she’s not still crying?’ she muttered. They watched surreptitiously as the young mum order an iced chocolate and sat down, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Maddie continued to cry and Janelle rocked the pram automatically.
From behind the counter the owner, Ruth, came out and started to fuss over Maddie, talking to her and Janelle, asking how everything was going.
‘She’s certainly got a good set of lungs on her,’ Dave heard Ruth say. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Maddie. She’s hard work. Won’t suck properly so I can’t even get her to take a dummy to make her be quiet,’ Janelle said above the noise. Ruth leaned into the pram and picked up Maddie, jiggling her up and down for a few moments.
‘You poor thing,’ she said to Janelle. ‘It’s hard when your baby is unsettled. Have you got anyone to help you at home?’
‘Nope,’ Janelle said. ‘Mum says it’s my own fault and I have to live with the consequences.’
A look of shock passed over Ruth’s face. ‘Oh, you poor love.’ She jiggled Maddie even harder. ‘Well, I tell you what, every time you need a little break, you pop in here for a free iced chocolate and I’ll have a little cuddle with her while you have five minutes to yourself. What do you say?’ Janelle looked up at her with delight on her face. ‘That would be awesome,’ she answered.
Ruth looked down at the crying baby. ‘Miss Maddie, I think you and I are going to be good friends.’
Dave put down his sandwich and said to Melinda, ‘What’s up?’ He’d seen a strange look cross her face.
‘I had her sucking out of a bottle last week. I’m not sure why Janelle is saying that, unless something’s gone really wrong.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll have to wait and see what’s happened when she comes in for her appointment tomorrow.’
Dave knew she’d tried to brush off what she’d seen, but something had upset her. He changed the subject. ‘How about we book in for a brothel tour this weekend?’ He’d already run the idea past her. The brothels were an integral part of the town, almost like the supermarket. Even though there was a strong demand for their services, they weren’t getting as much patronage as they used to and had started running tours to supplement their income. They’d never be locals until they understood the brothel culture.
‘We might get some ideas, hey,’ Melinda grinned. ‘But I think I’d like to catch up on my sleep a bit too.’ She picked at her salad half-heartedly.
Dave frowned. ‘You’re not getting sick, are you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It’s probably all the stress of moving, then starting this new job. I think I need a weekend of not doing very much.’
‘That’s what we’ll do then. Sleep late, have breakfast in bed, laze in front of the TV and do a brothel tour…’
Melinda giggled. ‘It’s the words “brothel tour” that don’t sound right in that sentence!’
Dave reached over and took her hand. ‘I hadn’t finished…Then we’ll come home and go to bed. But maybe not just to sleep. What do you say?’
‘Perfect!’
The first camping shop was full of swags and sleeping bags, gas cookers and camp ovens. Dave saw a GPS display behind the counter and, enclosed in a glass cabinet, a selection of camping knives—small through to extremely large, Dave wasn’t sure what they were made to cut. A camel maybe.
‘How’s it going?’ asked the man behind the counter. ‘Help you with anything?’
‘Got a large selection here,’ Dave said, putting his hands in his pockets. ‘Been a busy month?’
‘Nah, not really, mate. It’s the wrong time of year. Best months are July and August when the tourists come through for the wildflowers and it’s not so hot. You looking for anything in particular?’
Dave dug the photos out of his pocket and showed them to the man. ‘Have you seen either of these men in the last couple of months?’ he asked.
The man glanced at Dave then took a step back. ‘You a cop?’ he asked.
‘Detective Dave Burrows,’ he introduced himself and dug in his pocket for his ID. ‘And you are?’
‘Ah, Mick. Mick Smith. I own this store. What have these two done?’
Dave smiled. ‘I can’t answer that, but I’d really like to know if you’ve seen either of them around, or if you’ve sold them any camping gear recently.’
Mick studied the photos carefully. ‘Nope, don’t think so. There are another three camping shops in town you could try.’
Dave nodded and gave Mick his card. ‘If you do remember them coming in, would you be able to give me a call?’
‘Yeah, no worries.’ He glanced quizzically at the card but didn’t ask anything more. He was the sort of interviewee that Dave liked.
‘Oh, one other thing. Do you have any security video cameras in here?’
‘Nah, the bars on the windows mean nobody can get in and I’m always watching very carefully for shoplifting. I’ve worked out what type seems to do it more than others.’
Dave nodded and thanked him for his time. He didn’t have any luck at the next two stores either, but the last one was different.
This time Dave introduced himself as soon as he walked through the door. The owner, Peter Campbell, recognised Glen Bartlett the minute Dave showed him the photo.
‘Yeah, I remember him. Bought a stack of gear, which I
